


Black Coffee and Whipped Cream

by LadySokolov



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Codependency, Falling In Love, First Time, M/M, Unrealistic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 23:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13558272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySokolov/pseuds/LadySokolov
Summary: There wasn’t much about John Doe that most people would consider normal. Of course life with John wouldn’t be normal either. Bruce had expected that. What he hadn’t expected was how easy it was.





	Black Coffee and Whipped Cream

**Author's Note:**

> All I want is for Telltale to leave us a world in which the following story is possible. I know that’s probably wishing for too much, but I can hope, at least until episode 5 comes out.

Looking back on it later, Bruce realized that the moment he had first started to fall in love with John was in the Stacked Deck, when John had played what could have been interpreted as a slightly cruel joke, on both Bruce and the poor, unfortunate Willy that John had been guiding through ‘therapy’. The joke itself should have been a warning; for Bruce to stay as far away from John Doe as possible.

Instead, standing there and watching John try to hide his glee as Willy continued to rant about Bruce Wayne while the man in question stood right behind him, Bruce had felt the first pangs of what would become one of the most hopeless and difficult infatuations of his life. The realization that he actually liked John had been more than a little worrying at the time, and it didn’t grow any less so, at least until Bruce was so lost, and so hopelessly in love that there was absolutely no chance of ever going back.

John Doe was strange, and enchanting, and disturbing, and charming and so very, very different from anyone that Bruce had ever met before.

Even months later, when the two of them had been both working and living together for some time, there were still plenty of moments when John managed to surprise him.

Perhaps Bruce should have known already that the progression of his relationship with John would be just as strange and unpredictable as everything else about the other man.

* * *

Bruce watched as John tinkered with something on the work bench. The curve of his back was hunched over even more than usual, and every so often he would let out a pleased hum or chuckle. These days John working in the Batcave was a comforting, familiar sight that made Bruce feel more at peace than he had ever imagined letting someone into the Batcave would.

He wanted to walk up to the other man and wrap his arms around him. He wanted to stand there behind John, holding him, if only for a moment. He wanted to press his head to the other man’s shoulder, to breathe him in.

He wondered whether he would be allowed that much; whether John would let Bruce simply stand there and watch over John’s shoulder as he worked. 

It was strange. He had never felt more free to just be himself as he did when he was around John. Conversely he was never more unsure of himself than he was when around John. He always felt off balance, and never knew exactly what to do or how much he could get away with around him. He was vaguely aware that most people would probably view such unpredictability as a negative in a partnership like theirs, but Bruce loved it, even thrived on it, and almost always felt relaxed around John, even when he was at his most erratic.

None of the usual rules applied to John. A hug, even a perfectly innocent one from Bruce might be greeted with almost delirious joy from John, or it might, if John had been particularly focused on his work, cause John to grow angry. Bruce didn’t know if he could take it if an attempt to initiate physical affection with John was turned down.

Then there was the fact that Bruce had been alone for so long that he wasn’t sure he had it in him to actually initiate such a show of physical affection. Bruce’s hands itched to touch John, but it was far easier for Bruce to keep them by his sides.

“Hey John,” he called out as he worked over. “What are you working on?”

“Bruce!” John cried out, looking up from the work bench and grinning widely as soon as Bruce’s eyes met his own.

John didn’t answer his question. Instead he came running over towards Bruce, and flung his arms around Bruce, pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug.

For just a moment Bruce was stunned. It almost felt as though John had been able to read Bruce’s mind; had somehow known that this was exactly what Bruce had needed.

He wrapped his arms around John, holding him just as tightly as John held him. John’s hugs never failed to feel absolutely amazing to Bruce, even when they were overenthusiastic or kept Bruce’s arms pinned to his sides. John leaned in, nuzzling against Bruce, putting absolutely everything that he had into the hug and sighing happily. Bruce pulled back just a little, so that he could observe the look of absolute bliss on John’s face for a moment, before leaning forward and pressing his head to the top of John’s own.

He knew that he had been touch-starved before John came along. He hadn’t really had any contact with other people that was both positive and sincere, but that was starting to change now that he was living with John.

After all, John was definitely the sort of person who expressed his affection through touch, and Bruce was starting to grow addicted to the feeling of the other man’s hand on his shoulder, or entwined with his own; was starting to crave John’s hugs, which were always so sudden and overwhelming and absolutely perfect.

Eventually John let him go, and Bruce sighed in contentment as they parted.

“So, what are you working on?” Bruce tried asking again.

John’s face lit up, and he grabbed Bruce’s hand in his own, pulling him over to the work bench with the same enthusiasm he had put into the hug.

“Oh, let me show you Bruce. You’re going to love it!”

* * *

Before John had come barreling into his life, Bruce’s solution to loneliness or pain or any sort of psychological issue at all was to throw himself into his work. Between Wayne Enterprises, being Batman and his philanthropic ventures there was always something to keep him busy and to stop him from thinking too hard. Quiet, easy mornings had not been a thing that happened at Wayne Manor.

But then of course John came along, and for Bruce being left alone with his thoughts wasn’t such a terrifying prospect anymore. With John picking up some of the slack as far as Batman’s vigilante and detective work went Bruce didn’t have to run himself nearly so ragged at night either. Sleeping in on the weekends or simply having a quiet day in were no longer just things that happened to other people.

Bruce was still getting used to this new rhythm when one day he awoke and came downstairs to find that John was still asleep in bed. That wasn’t particularly unusual. It was pretty even odds as to which of them would arise first, John naturally taking up very similar sleeping hours to Bruce after his first couple of weeks on the job with Batman.

For one of the first times in his life Bruce didn’t feel that he was in any particular hurry to get to work. There were a couple of phone calls that he needed to make in regard to the ongoing renovation of Arkham Asylum, but they could wait for a while, and for once there weren’t any particularly pressing cases that he and John needed to attend to.

It was an odd feeling, but at the same time Bruce actually found himself feeling content. Alfred had already been up for hours, and at the smallest hint from Bruce the butler was making coffee and smiling, seemingly just as content that morning as Bruce felt.

“Thanks Al,” Bruce said, taking the cup from his butler and life-long friend and returning the older man’s smile. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Bruce breathed in the smell of the coffee before taking the first sip, feeling shivers of pleasure run all the way down his back as he did. It wasn’t that Bruce couldn’t brew his own coffee. It was just that the ones Alfred made somehow always managed to taste so much better than when he brewed it himself.

Bruce took his time, clutching the cup of coffee between his hands as he wandered around the house. It had been a long time since he had just stopped and looked at his home. The manor was almost exactly how his parents had left it, kept in as good condition as he and Alfred could manage, albeit repaired in some places.

Perhaps it was time for a change. The manor was beginning to feel too dark and old-fashioned. Perhaps it was time to brighten it up a little.

He resolved to bring the subject up with Alfred and John the next time the opportunity presented itself, and was just wondering whether a pale purple would work in certain places when he heard the sound of footsteps thundering down the main staircase.

Bruce smiled, knowing that his partner had arisen. John appeared in the same room as Bruce within seconds, his excited footsteps slowing to a more normal pace as he approached Bruce.

“Morning buddy,” John said, pausing to stretch, his long, slender arms reaching high above his head, and Bruce was once again seized with the urge to wrap his arms around John and just hold him close.

“Good morning John,” Bruce replied.

“Mm…” John purred appreciatively. “That coffee smells good.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at his partner. John’s taste in coffee hadn’t changed during the time Bruce had known him. He still preferred it sweet and creamy, with whipped cream, sprinkles, sweet syrups or preferably some combination of all three. The rich black that Alfred had brewed for Bruce didn’t exactly seem like John’s usual fare.

“You can try some if you want,” Bruce said, taking one last sip before holding the cup out towards John.

Bruce was pretty sure there should have still been enough coffee in the pot for John to have a cup as well, and Wayne Manor had been well stocked in sweet syrups and the like since John had moved in. If, against all odds, John  _did_ decide that he liked Bruce’s coffee, he would be able to have some himself.

“Oh gosh Bruce,” John replied with a grin. “I sure would.”

John practically waltzed over to Bruce, long legs and long arms whirling around and completely bypassing the porcelain mug that Bruce was holding.

John’s hands reached up to gently cup either side of Bruce’s face, and then his lips pressed against Bruce’s in a quick kiss that was over before Bruce could process what was happening, let alone actually kiss back.

“Just as I thought,” John said, grinning as he pulled back from Bruce. He caught Bruce’s eye and, without breaking eye contact, licked his lips. “Delicious.”

He winked at Bruce and then darted away, leaving Bruce standing there and wondering exactly what had just happened.

Bruce felt himself blushing as he glanced down at the coffee cup in his hands. It was only then that he realized John’s kiss had caused him to spill half of it all down his previously pristine white shirt.

* * *

Bruce and John had been perched on top of the Gotham mercantile bank for at least fifteen minutes in relative silence, waiting for their target to appear when John spoke, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Aw nuts,” he said.

When Bruce glanced over at him, he discovered that John looked a little upset.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked.

“Don’t worry Bruce,” John said with a loud sigh, his shoulders sinking. “I was just thinking and I realized that we could never get married.”

“What?” Bruce replied. He couldn’t think of anything more to say than that one simple word. As far as he could tell his brain had stopped working altogether as soon as John had said what he had.

“Well, it’s the name thing,” John said. “If I got married to you then my name would be John Wayne, and well, that name’s kind of already taken. It’d be awkward, you know?”

“What?” Bruce asked again, no more eloquent or less confused than he had been the last time.

Why the hell was John thinking about the two of them getting married? Even disregarding the fact that the topic had come up now, when they were both in costume and supposed to be working on a case, Bruce wasn’t sure that they were even dating yet.

Not that he was particularly opposed to the idea of marrying John. In fact it was the exact opposite, and he spent a few moments turning over the name ‘Bruce Doe’ in his head before deciding that it was, for several reasons, far worse than ‘John Wayne.’

He didn’t say any of this to John though.

“You know,” he said instead, without thinking it through beforehand, “you don’t _have to_ change your name when you get married. I definitely wouldn’t make you change yours.”

That was enough to earn him a smile from John.

“How do you feel about joint names?” John asked. “How about the ‘Wayne-Doe’s or… oh, oh, the ‘Doe-Wayne’s?”

Bruce couldn’t help but grin in response to that.

“They’re both terrible,” he informed John. “Why are we even talking about this?”

They were both grinning now, their joy and amusement feeding off each other in an almost endless loop that Bruce knew would have brought one of them to laughter soon if they weren’t in costume and supposed to be behaving with at least a small amount of gravitas.

“Well you know,” John said, one eyebrow raising over the top of his domino mask. “It’s better to be prepared. Might as well hash these things out now.”

Bruce knew there was absolutely no way that John could mean what he was saying. There was no way that he had just been seriously imagining married life with Bruce.

Then again…

Bruce could vaguely remember, back when this whole mess had begun, being at least a little freaked out when Agent Avesta had informed him that John had put Bruce down as his emergency contact. Now however Bruce would have insisted upon it. If anything bad ever happened to John then Bruce wanted to know; would prefer to be right there with him, helping in whatever way that he could; would want to be considered family so that he could be right there with John in the back of the ambulance, or there, holding his hand as they travelled down whatever dark paths their lives might take.  

Perhaps John had always understood their relationship far better than Bruce ever would; had somehow known that it would come to this.

Perhaps John was right to worry about a hypothetical marriage as well, and that thought didn’t make Bruce nearly as terrified as it probably should have.

* * *

Bruce had always imagined his first time making love with John happening in one of two ways. The first version of events was the one that he preferred, and involved him seducing John, sweeping him off his feet, showering him with kisses and laying him down in a bed of well… probably not roses; ideally some sort of green and purple combination of flower petals.

The other version was probably more likely, and infinitely more violent. It would probably start out on the rooftops of Gotham, after a fierce and bloody battle with whatever criminal was currently terrorizing the city. Or perhaps it would be back at the Batcave, and the fight would be the old one that always seemed to erupt between them, about how much force was too much, and they would come to blows, as they sometimes did, no matter how hard they tried to work together in harmony. It was just in their natures; this need to punch and grip and tear at the barriers placed in front of them.

Whatever caused it, there would be violence, and a great deal of adrenaline coursing through their veins, and then one of them would push the other up against a wall, and their kisses would be more like bites, mouths tearing desperately at each other, hands grabbing and tearing at clothing.

Bruce was wrong again though.

The day on which it finally happened had been a relatively productive one. He and John had finally, after a long and trying investigation that had lasted almost two weeks and given both of them more burns than they would have liked, been able to take down Garfield Lynns, also known as Firefly, and had handed him over to the G.C.P.D. in the early hours of the morning.

Gordon and the rest of the G.C.P.D. still weren’t particularly fond of John, and so he had gone back to the manor ahead of Bruce. After dealing with Gordon and tying up a few loose ends Bruce returned home as well.

He expected to be greeted with an overtly enthusiastic John almost as soon as he opened the door. That was usually what happened after they wrapped up a successful case. John would come running up to Bruce, all excitement and flapping purple coat. Often there would be a hug. Lately there had also been a kiss a few times, but, to Bruce’s confusion and annoyance, they had never gone on for longer than a few seconds.

There was no John waiting for him though. Bruce removed his armor and greeted Alfred, and cast his eyes around the Batcave, his heart clenching in a distinctly uncomfortable manner as he noticed there was absolutely no sign of his partner. Had something happened to him?

Alfred let out a sigh and placed the newspaper that he had been trying to tell Bruce about down on the closest bench.

“John is upstairs,” Alfred said. Bruce wondered whether his worry over John’s absence had been that obvious, or whether Alfred just knew him well enough to know what Bruce had been thinking.

“Last I saw him he was in the main sitting room,” Alfred said. “He seemed quite gleeful after your successful capture of Lynns, even if he did manage to gain a few more burns in the process.”

It probably wasn’t the sort of news that Bruce should smile at, but he had already inspected John’s new injuries rather thoroughly in the field to make sure that none of them were too bad, and he had been there to see exactly how John had sustained them.

John had always been inclined towards rushing in without thinking things through or formulating a proper plan beforehand. In most cases it achieved nothing but chaos, and more often than not made Bruce worry far more than was probably healthy. Today though, it had been John’s reckless charge that had allowed them to take down Firefly.

Bruce answered a few of Alfred’s questions, and the left the Batcave as quickly as soon as it was polite to do so, eager to reunite with John as soon as possible.

He found himself wanting to be around John almost all the time of late, even, or perhaps especially, on those days when John made his heart beat too fast and left him feeling particularly confused or off-balance, but it was even worse today. They had celebrating to do, and Bruce just wanted to hold John and check his burns (even though Bruce knew they weren’t anything that they really needed to worry about) and perhaps even kiss them better.

He psyched himself up. So far any real advances in their relationship had been prompted by John. Bruce had initiated a couple of kisses, and more than a few hugs, hungry for John’s touch in a way that he had never been for another person’s before, but that had been it. Today though; today was going to be different.

Bruce found John right where Alfred had said he would be. He was sprawled out on the largest couch in the room, one long leg left to dangle off the side, and one of his arms flung over the back of the couch. He was staring at his phone, seemingly enraptured with whatever was on the screen, but put it down as soon as Bruce entered the room.

“Bruce!” he cried out, the expression on his face immediately changing to an enthusiastic grin as soon as his eyes met Bruce’s own.

Bruce expected John to jump up off the couch, run over towards Bruce and wrap his arms around him. After all, that was the way that John pretty much always greeted him these days, especially if he was in a good mood.

John did not jump up from his spot. Instead he shuffled closer to the back of the couch, making room for Bruce to sit down right alongside John if he so wished. Bruce cast his eyes over his partner again. John was still wearing his full jacket and vigilante get-up, although Bruce could see bandages and a couple of angry red marks through the burn holes in it. Apparently John had just put his costume straight back on after Alfred had tended to him.

Bruce shook his head and moved over to sit on the edge of the couch.

“We’re going to have to get you another jacket,” Bruce said, running his fingers over the charred edge of one of John’s ridiculously large lapels.

“Eh,” John said with a shrug. “It was worth it to take that guy down. Setting fire to other people is just… so rude!”

Bruce found himself shuffling a little closer to his partner. He tucked his legs up on the couch and reclined alongside John, propping himself up with one elbow. There was just enough space on the couch for the two of them to lay alongside one another, leaving at most a few inches between them. Their legs were already touching, and as Bruce settled in and got more comfortable, John moved his legs so that they became tangled with Bruce’s own.

“Maybe it was,” Bruce eventually said, having, for a few seconds at least, become far too absorbed in the feeling of John’s legs sliding against his own. He leaned forward, reaching out to John with one hand and cupping his cheek gently.

“I was worried about you, you know?” Bruce said.

For a moment it looked as though John might object, but then he seemed to bite back whatever protest he had been about to make, perhaps sensing that Bruce had more to say.

“But,” Bruce continued, letting his fingers drift over John’s face, his thumb briefly smudging the remnants of John’s only half-removed lipstick. “I’m also proud of you.”

“Yeah?” John asked, leaning closer.

“Yeah.”

“Well,” John said, shuffling around a little on the couch and throwing an arm over Bruce’s side, moving them both so that the small amount of space that had remained between them disappeared almost completely.

“I’m proud of you too,” John whispered, his lips so close that Bruce could feel the other man’s warm breath.

Bruce wasn’t sure which one of them closed the distance between them. It felt like one moment they were simply lying there, breathing the same air, and then they were kissing, slowly and gently at first, and then deeper and with more desperation.

Their movements stayed slow, despite the heat growing between them, John’s hands running up and down Bruce’s sides and calming what had been threatening to turn into a desperate, raging fire of need. Bruce moaned, and John hummed appreciatively, angling his mouth to kiss Bruce deeper, his fingertips pressing into Bruce’s back.

Oh god. This was everything that Bruce had wanted, and yet now that he had it he found himself wanting more. It felt like they were two magnets, drawn together, and Bruce could do absolutely nothing to resist John’s pull.

John’s hands pushed Bruce’s shirt up to caress his back, and Bruce found himself practically melting against the other man.

“John.” Bruce breathed out his partner’s name like it was a prayer. It certainly felt like one.

He needed to stop for a moment; needed to remember, for just a second, how to breathe and how to exist in a way that wasn’t entwined with John. He buried his face in John’s neck, but that didn’t work. John smelled like smoke, and sugar, and lust and home, and Bruce found himself breathing in deep, desperate lungfuls of it.

He gasped and shuddered. It was too much, and yet it still wasn’t enough. He needed more, needed to touch and hold and own John, needed to crawl inside of him until there was absolutely no space between them at all.

He reached down with shaking hands to grasp at John’s hips, pulling him closer. John responded by throwing one of his legs over both of Bruce’s own, and then, in a move that Bruce himself had taught him, John flipped them over, so that Bruce was lying beneath him on the couch.

John leaned down and pressed his lips to Bruce’s once more. Bruce kissed back and arched up against John, needing to feel more, more, more of the other man, needing John more than he had ever needed anyone else in his life.

They had never talked about this; this thing between them that had grown to become so much more than friendship or even simple lust. There had simply been kisses, and then this, as though whatever it was that had been pressing at both of them had built up to the stage where it could no longer be contained, and now it came flooding out between them like the walls of a dam breaking.

Perhaps it was appropriate then that Bruce felt like he was drowning, John pulling him under and completely consuming him, until Bruce no longer remembered which way was up.

Greedy, desperate hands shook as they made quick work of Bruce’s button up shirt, and then moved lower to unbuckle Bruce’s belt.

All the while Bruce’s fingers and lips roamed over John, seeking out his lips and running over his shoulders and through his hair and over his torso.

Bruce removed John’s clothes at the same time John removed his. He hadn’t even made the conscious decision to do so. He just knew that he needed more of John; needed to touch him and feel him with nothing at all between them, and all of John’s damned clothing was getting in the way.

Before long there was a pile of purple and black clothing scattered all over the carpet next to the couch, and Bruce was staring up at a very naked and very obviously aroused John Doe.

They were still for a moment. Bruce knew that one of them should probably say something, if only to acknowledge what was actually happening and what was about to happen, but then John was leaning down again to press another kiss to Bruce’s lips, and Bruce felt himself melt again.

What the hell was the point in words at this stage? It was _them_ after all. Bruce loved and wanted John, and John wanted him as well. What else mattered?

Bruce’s hands moved down to hold John’s rear. He arched up against his partner again and again, feeling John’s erection brushing against his bare stomach with every movement and relishing the small moans and whimpers that emerged from John’s throat.

John pulled back from the kiss, his mouth moving down to the crook of Bruce’s neck, where it settled, gently mouthing and biting at a patch of skin there for a while.

Bruce felt like he was floating. It was all so perfect, and yet still…

“It’s not enough,” John gasped into the skin of Bruce’s neck, echoing Bruce’s thoughts perfectly.

He sat back up, and the skin on Bruce’s chest and neck and shoulder where John had been pressed against him suddenly felt too cold.

Still, now Bruce could look up and see John leaning over him. He could stare shamelessly at the lines of John’s bare torso and arms, or lose himself in John’s beautiful green eyes, which seemed so much brighter in that moment than anything that Bruce had ever seen before, brighter even than the sun.

He was so lost in them that he didn’t realize what John was doing until he felt long, talented fingers wrapping around the length of his cock, and then John’s hips were slowly sinking down when Bruce was barely aware that they had risen up to begin with, and then the tip of his cock was being enveloped in a tight heat that was absolutely exquisite.

John was…

Oh god…

Bruce’s mouth opened to scream in pleasure, but nothing emerged except for a vague, desperate whimper. It was so good and so warm and so _tight._

John hadn’t even prepared himself properly as far as Bruce could tell, and Bruce froze in panic at the thought that John might accidentally hurt himself if he wasn’t careful.

“John wait!” Bruce cried out.

To his credit John actually stilled his hips, although the desperate, half-mad look that he gave Bruce made it incredibly clear that he had not wanted to stop; that he was aching to start moving again.

“We… we don’t have any lubricant,” Bruce said. “And you haven’t stretched or anything yet. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

John’s mouth shifted slowly into a wide smile. He then shook his head and leaned down to whisper right by Bruce’s ear, keeping the first couple of inches of Bruce’s cock inside of him as he did.

“It’s all right Bruce,” John said, before pressing a comforting kiss on Bruce’s cheek. “I’ve been practicing. You know, getting ready for this moment. It’s fine. I know I can take it. It won’t hurt.”

Bruce felt like John’s confession had just caused his brain to stop working altogether. The thought of John laying back, shoving his fingers or a dildo or whatever the hell it was that he had been using inside of himself, all for the purpose of riding Bruce’s dick was more than he could process at that moment.

John sat back up, and seated himself further down on top of Bruce, letting out a loud moan as he took the rest of Bruce’s cock inside of himself in one swift moment that left Bruce seeing stars.

“Oh god,” he panted. “John…”

“You know,” John gasped, sounding just as desperate and lost in pleasure as Bruce was. “I always thought of you, when I was…”

He paused and took a deep breath before pushing himself back up and then letting himself fall back down onto Bruce’s cock once more.

“When I was practicing,” John gasped. “I always thought of this.”

“Oh god,” Bruce breathed again, right before John started riding him in earnest, and then all that emerged from his mouth was a loud, long scream.

For a long time Bruce was completely lost in pleasure. All that he could do was hold on to John’s hips and try to remember how to breathe, how to think. He was drowning again, and it was the best damn feeling in the world.

John was letting out all sorts of amazing whimpers and moans as he moved. His eyes were closed as he rocked against Bruce, but right as Bruce started watching him he opened them. When Bruce’s grey eyes met John’s green he had to remember how to breathe all over again.

John’s hips shook for a moment, and he fell forward, hands scratching at Bruce’s chest in an attempt to regain his balance.

John’s eyes closed again, and Bruce’s gaze moved instead to the beautiful, almost ethereal expanse of John’s skin, all so pale except for John’s erect cock, which was flushed a dark pink that stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of his body. It was one of the most beautiful things Bruce had ever seen, possibly rivalled only by the sight of John’s eyes when he was lost in bliss.

There was a moment then, while John was still riding him, and Bruce had been staring up at his face, when, in the depths of passion, Bruce had a moment of absolute clarity. He had imagined the two of them coming together in dozens of different ways, yet he had never imagined this.

There had been no violent clash of limbs, and no grand romantic gestures. There was just the two of them, coming together on a couch, the both of them wreaking of smoke and sweat.

It was so, so easier; far easier than Bruce had ever imagined it would be. Making love to John felt like coming home; less like they were taking some sort of irreversible step forward, and more like they had simply, finally stopped resisting whatever force had been pulling them together since the start.

John’s hips stuttered, and he let out a series of quiet, desperate gasps before falling forward on top of Bruce’s chest. Bruce wrapped his arms around the other man, holding him close, thrusting slowly in and out of him the whole time; the change in angle and position feeling just as easy as everything else had.

He leaned down and captured John’s mouth in another kiss, greedily drinking in every gasp and moan that John let out. His arms wrapped around John’s bare back, fingers caressing shoulder and spine and running through thick, wavy hair. He continued to hold John close to him, their mouths and bodies pressed together as close as they could possibly be, and John pressed back, grinding his rear hungrily into every single one of Bruce’s thrusts, and returning Bruce’s kisses as though he would die without them.

Eventually it grew to be too much. John pulled back from the kiss with a cry of pleasure and curled into Bruce’s body, his arms wrapping more tightly around Bruce’s neck and shoulders, his face pressing into the crook of Bruce’s neck.

John let out another cry, and then a sob, a needy, desperate thing that tugged at Bruce’s heart. He knew exactly how John felt. This was too good. Too right. The pleasure so powerful it had almost looped back into pain. Bruce felt like he might break into a thousand pieces if something didn’t snap soon, and yet he never wanted it to end.

John let out another cry, his fingers digging into Bruce’s flesh so hard that Bruce knew there would be marks later, and then his hips were shuddering erratically, and he was pushing back against Bruce.

John bit down on Bruce’s shoulder as he came, Bruce’s flesh smothering another loud, desperate cry as John shuddered, leaving a spattering of cum on Bruce’s chest and stomach.

It was too much. Bruce couldn’t hold back anymore, and he came only seconds behind John, muffling his screams in John’s shoulder, holding his partner through the whole thing, until the shuddering and pleasure had finally abated, and he could remember how to breathe and how to think.

For a long time they just lay there, chests heaving, John’s head on Bruce’s chest and Bruce’s arms wrapped tightly around the man he loved.

When Bruce finally remembered how to move he reached up and ran a hand through John’s hair. His hand was shaking, but burying it in John’s soft waves helped to ground him, at least a little. John let out a soft, content mewl and nuzzled into Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce’s heart clenched as he did. He felt so impossibly fond of the man lying on top of him. He hadn’t realized that it was possible to love someone so much that it hurt, but somehow it had happened.

“I love you,” Bruce muttered into the soft waves of John’s hair, smelling smoke and something sweet as he did.

John chuckled against his shoulder, not the cruel or nervous chuckle that Bruce had heard come from the other man’s throat far too often, but something soft and fond that somehow made Bruce fall even more in love with him.

“Took you long enough to say it,” John replied.

Bruce froze, wondering how the hell he was supposed to react to something like that. It didn’t last for long however, because soon John pressed a kiss to Bruce’s shoulder.

“I love you too Bruce,” he whispered.

Bruce leaned in, pressing his head against the top of John’s own, continuing to breathe in his scent and wondering if it was possible anymore for him to live without John being such a large part of his life.

Yes, falling in love with John Doe had been strange and unpredictable, and the first parts at least had been absolutely terrifying, but he wouldn’t trade the man in his arms for anything else in the world.


End file.
